


A Good Gift

by lockedin221b



Series: Tied Up With String [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Greg, Bottoming from the Top, Chair Bondage, Chair Sex, Clothed Sex, Consent, Fuckbuddies, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Teasing, Top Sherlock, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anachronisticadvert said: or maybe sherlock is a gift to lestrade from john… I think i like this idea better! ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Second of Christmas bondage fics. I've got at least two more lined up. Still considering requests [here](http://lockedin221b.tumblr.com/post/70945218951/).

Greg pulled his coat tight about him as he and John left the pub. “So when are you and Mary off?”

“Morning,” John said as he hailed a cab. “Her parents tried bribing us to leave today.”

“Bribe? With what?”

“They own a vineyard. What do you think?”

Greg chuckled. “Would have taken it.”

“What about you and Sherlock?”

“You know him.” Greg shrugged. “Not one for the trivialities of simple holidays.”

John raised a brow. “You sure?”

Greg frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“I went round Baker Street on my way here.”

“And?” Greg pressed when that was all John said.

A cab pulled up and John opened the door. “There was definitely a gift with your name on it.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Probably ruined half the surprise.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s Christmas Eve, Greg. Wouldn’t hurt to go ‘round, right? Besides, Mrs. Hudson’s off to her sister’s, isn’t she?” John winked and slid into the cab. “Have a good one, Greg.”

 

The door to 221 was unlocked. As there was no answer, Greg went up to B. When he knocked there, Sherlock called from within, “About bloody time!”

Confused and, quite honestly, curious, Greg eased open the door. “I can come in then?”

“I’ll make the next year miserable for you if you don’t.”

Greg closed the door. When he turned around, he burst into laughter at the sight before him. Sherlock sat in his chair. Around each of his wrists was one half of a pair of handcuffs; the other halves were attached to the metal frame of his chair. Hung on his neck by a gaudy gold ribbon was a large card, on which was written in bright red: To Greg.

“Yes, I’m sure this is all very amusing.”

Greg covered his mouth as he forced down the rest of his laughter. “John I suppose?”

“Yes, John. Apparently, he decided for me that I didn’t appreciate the holidays enough.” Sherlock glanced aside and muttered, “Or you.”

The last of his laugh dissolved. “What?”

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh and hung his head back. “John is under the impression that I don’t appreciate you, specifically in regards to our relationship.”

Greg shrugged off his coat and hung it up. “We have a relationship?” He toed off his shoes and walked over to Sherlock’s chair and sat on the arm. “I thought we were just fucking.”

“That isn’t what you want.” Sherlock lifted his head and looked at Greg. “You don’t want someone for fucking.”

“I’ve been having fun. Haven’t you?”

“Regardless, you want something more, something not so dispassionate.”

Greg chuckled. “I’d hardly call our times together dispassionate.”

“Impersonal then.”

“Sherlock, if you want to stop what’s been going on between us, say so.”

“On the contrary, I rather enjoy our arrangement. I have no wish to change it, one way or another.” Sherlock set his sharp gaze on Greg. “However, I would rather end it than have it transform into something—amorous.”

Greg combed his fingers into Sherlock’s curls and wrapped his fingers into them. “John’s a romantic. His intentions are sweet, but we’re not a couple. We’re not going to be a couple. It’s not what I want, not now, certainly not with you. When that changes, I’ll let you know, and this will be over.”

Gradually, as he become convinced of Greg’s sincerity and honesty, Sherlock’s eyes brightened. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Greg smirked.

“Do me the honours?” Sherlock shook the handcuffs.

Greg pulled his hand from Sherlock’s hair and slid from the arm of the chair to crouch beside it. He paused when he picked up the cuff attached to the metal frame. “These are mine.”

“Hm?”

“The cuffs. These are police-issued—my police-issued handcuffs.” Greg looked up.

Sherlock met his eyes with a disinterested look. “I pickpocket you when you’re annoying. You’ve had to have noticed.”

“My badge, yeah, but my handcuffs?”

“There’s a box in my closet if you want them back.”

“You know, I’ve half a mind to leave you like this.”

“Humour really isn’t your strong point, Greg.”

Greg stepped back and crossed his arms. “I’m not joking.”

“What, a highly trained and extensively experienced detective can’t pick his own handcuffs?”

“You’re not goading me into this one, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grumbled under his breath before saying more clearly, “Proposition: uncuff me, and we’ll fuck.”

“We’re fuck buddies, Sherlock. What kind of offer is that?”

“I’ll take for a month.”

“You prefer taking.”

“Fine, you can take for a month.”

“I prefer you taking.”

Sherlock let out a frustrated grunt and pulled momentarily at the handcuffs.

Greg smiled. “Is sex really the only thing you’re going to try and offer?”

“What else would you suggest?” Sherlock glared at him.

“Don’t insult me or my team for a month.”

With a derisive snort, Sherlock shook his head. “I think we both know how unlikely it is for me to keep that bargain.”

Greg shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He stood thinking for a while, trying to decide what he could get out of Sherlock, in good fun of course. Finally, with a spark that put a broad smile on his face, he brought his hands to his hips. “I take, with you exactly as you are.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide, and it was such an usual expression to get out of him, Greg would have let him off even if he had said no. However, what he said was, “You fuck yourself on my cock while I’m chained to this chair?”

The perfectly enunciated words curled hot in Greg’s groin. “Exactly.”

“After which, you’ll help me loose?”

“Of course.”

“Fair enough. You’ll have to prep yourself, though.”

“Obviously. Back in a few.” Greg made a point to saunter out and through the kitchen.

“A few?” Sherlock shouted after him. He let out a loud groan when he wasn’t given a reply.

Once in Sherlock’s room, Greg stood a moment to think over how he wanted things to play out, both the get the most enjoyment out of it and give Sherlock a bit of frustration. The first decision he made was that Sherlock’s inability to see but not touch would probably play into Greg’s favour, so he stripped completely. He sprawled across Sherlock’s bed and dug the lube out of the nightstand.

“It’s really quite a big bed for one person,” he shouted.

“You’re a bastard,” was the only retort.

Greg smiled to himself before rolling onto his side. He didn’t spend as much time luxuriating in stretching himself as he might if he were only masturbating. He worked fairly quickly, occasionally calling out taunts and teases such as, “You have so much more reach than I do” or “I’m so tight. It’s been far too long since I’ve had something up my arse.” Sometimes Sherlock would swear at him, but mostly he let out loud, frustrated noises.

Once he had finished stretching himself, he retrieved a condom and brought both it and the lube out to the lounge, where Sherlock sat in a clearly agitated state. Agitated and aroused, but the look of the bulge pressing under his zip. He gazed openly at Greg and licked his lips. “About damn time,” he muttered.

Greg pulled the obnoxious card over Sherlock’s head and dropped it on the floor. He set the lube and condom between Sherlock’s thigh and the arm of the chair. “This can’t be comfortable,” he said, indicating the bulge in Sherlock’s tight trousers as he unbuckled his belt.

“You have no idea.”

“Really? None?” Greg paused with his fingers over the button. “Are you forgetting the case with the trombonist, and how you kept muttering into my ear every chance you got until I had to run off to the loo before I passed out from the sheer loss of blood flow to my head?”

Sherlock grinned. “Ah yes, I do remember that now.”

Greg pushed the heel of his balm against Sherlock’s bulge.

Sherlock tensed and groaned, “Christ!”

Satisfied, Greg undid Sherlock’s trousers and pulled his cock from his pants. That was all he did to unclothe Sherlock, though. He kept an eye on Sherlock’s expression as he rolled the condom on, giving a few hard strokes to get it fully erect. The dawning of realisation was a beautiful one.

“You complete and utter bastard.”

Greg slicked up Sherlock’s cock and set the lube aside. “That’s usually my line, isn’t it?”

He had debated for a while whether or not he wanted to face Sherlock. The positioning would be tighter front-to-front, plus, with his back to Sherlock, he would be depriving the man of the show. On the other hand, Greg wouldn’t get to enjoy Sherlock’s own expressions. Then again, he’d seen Sherlock’s face during sex plenty. So he turned his back to Sherlock and lowered himself onto Sherlock’s cock and into his lap.

Sherlock might not have had use of his hands, but that was the only thing he didn’t have use of. He leant forward and pressed his mouth to Greg’s neck, biting and sucking with such suddenness that Greg jerked, causing Sherlock’s cock to press against his prostate.

He gasped and clutched the arms of the chair. As soon as he had, Sherlock thrust his hips upward. “Fuck!” Greg squeezed his arse tight around Sherlock, making the man behind his moan suddenly and go still. “This is my show, remember?”

Sherlock only huffed against Greg’s neck.

Greg pressed the balls of his feet on the floor and began rocking in Sherlock’s lap. Once he had his rhythm, with Sherlock breathing heavily against his neck, he resumed his earlier taunting. “Must be so frustrating,” he said, breathing heavily. “The only thing you get to feel is your cock inside me.”

“More than sufficient,” Sherlock muttered against Greg’s skin.

“Is ‘sufficient’ really enough? I mean, I’ve got your prick rubbing against my prostate every—time—I—do—this.” He emphasised his words with particularly hard rocks and ended them with a moan. “And when I get close,” he panted, “I can jerk myself off. All you’ve got is my tight arse, as tight or loose as I want it to be, as fast or slow, as hard or as gentle as I decide. I know how much you enjoy working with your hands, Sherlock. Is this really enough for you?” Greg lifted himself a few centimetres and brought himself down slow and tight. He repeated it several times, and each time there was a catch in Sherlock’s breathing. Greg reached back with one hand until he could bury his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and twist them tightly. He leant back and turned his head enough to catch Sherlock’s mouth. 

When they surfaced with wet, swollen lips, breathless and hot, Greg straightened up and fucked himself faster on Sherlock, one hand still tugging at Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock groaned at regular intervals now, and Greg was panting between his own moans.

“Fuck,” he gasped, at last pulling his fingers free of Sherlock’s locks to wrap his hand around his cock. He braced his other arm more firmly on the arm of the chair and stroked himself as hard and fast as he moved in Sherlock’s lap.

“Shit, Greg,” Sherlock groaned. “Fuck. I need—I need to move. Fuck, Greg!”

“Then move!”

Sherlock’s hips bucked up and Greg yelped. He only faltered, though, and was quick to resume his pace against Sherlock’s vigorous thrusting. As cliché as it sounded in Greg’s head, the man really did have hips like pistons. With only his feet planted solidly on the ground for purchase, he pushed fiercely up into Greg again and again until Greg gave up on keeping pace and let himself be jostled in Sherlock’s lap as he pulled himself off with a loud, long moan, leaning back and pressing himself against Sherlock’s still-clothed chest as he came in his hand.

Sherlock, in all his stubbornness, kept his own orgasm at bay as he continued to exact revenge on Greg’s arse. As Greg rubbed himself through the last of his orgasm, though, he squeezed around Sherlock’s cock and brought the man to climax with the unexpected pressure added to his thrusts. Sherlock’s hips shot up against Greg’s rear, his shoulders pushed back into the chair, handcuffs rattling against the metal frame as Sherlock’s entire body tensed with orgasm. Greg smiled lazily to himself, more than pleased with the outcome as Sherlock’s body sank back into the chair, weighed down by Greg’s.

After a couple minutes of catching their breath and senses, Sherlock grumbled, “My prick’s still in your arse.”

“I’m trying to decide if I care.”

“I do.” Sherlock wriggled his hips sluggishly under Greg. “And you have a bargain to uphold.”

Greg chuckled and pushed himself up. 

“My picks are in the desk, top right drawer.”

Greg retrieved them and knelt beside Sherlock’s left hand. It was embarrassingly easy work, even in his half-hazed state, and he thought vaguely about suggesting the Met invest in better cuffs. After both hands were freed and Greg stood, Sherlock snatched Greg by the hips and pulled him into his lap. He put his mouth to the bite mark he had left earlier and gave it a couple licks before kissing it.

“I may not care for sentiment,” he murmured against the new bruise, “but I can appreciate a good gift.”

“I thought you were the gift.”

“Was I?” Sherlock raised his head and gave Greg one of his wryest smiles.


End file.
